


Chocolate Pudding

by millionthline



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, Domestic, M/M, Will Give You Diabetes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 08:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millionthline/pseuds/millionthline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired from a post on Tumblr: <i>Imagine Person A of your OTP walking downstairs at 4AM to find Person B making chocolate pudding because they’ve lost control of their life.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Chocolate Pudding

Ever since they began sleeping in the same bed, Bilbo became something of a cuddle-freak. No matter how hot the night may have gotten, no matter how blistering humid it may be, he always would nudge Thorin into laying on his side so that he could tarp himself over his back. There his arm would loop over the other man’s side, his hand feeling empty, until a familiar pair of fingers found his and they held on as tight as dwarvish knots.

Thorin was at first annoyed by the whole deal. If it wasn't enough to be constantly looked after by a hobbit versed only in the proper courting ways of his own kind, which consisted of doting upon their significant other, he had to put up with being spooned until the sun rose and they roused in the flittering morning light. However, he slowly, if not grudgingly, grew used to it, and always missed that familiar hand in the night when he went away traveling on long fortnights.

However, though Thorin was most definitely not out and about on the wild roads, Bilbo felt his eyes groggily open to find that he was in bed alone. He felt deeply ill-rested, as if his dreams were all confusing and wearisome, and it didn't help that he felt cold in waking.

At first he simply thought that Thorin had gone to relieve himself, so he shut his eyes and tried to capture sleep once more. A minute trickled by, and then two, and no matter how hard he tried Bilbo couldn't help feeling more and more concerned until it came to the point where he tore off his bed sheets and dropped his feet onto the cold floor below. Then went on his night robe, and after a thorough rub of his eyes he exited his bedroom and padded through the halls, the dark of the home causing him to proceed in a drunkenly manner.

“Thorin?” he tentatively called out, and that was when he rounded into the entrance room and saw a dim glow of candlelight shed through the open doorway of the kitchen.

No response.

Now that he was able to see, Bilbo skirted around the main table and slipped to the doorway in silence, an ominous feeling deep in his gut. What met his eyes was a curious sight: Thorin, his back faced to the hobbit and the table before him bearing a container of dark chocolate pudding. Or, judging from the last smears of brown on the bowl and spoon, he assumed that was what it had contained.

“Thorin, are you okay?”

The dwarf jolted and turned, another dish in hand and a spoon protruding from his mouth.

“Is that all the pudding?”

Bilbo, in all honest, felt like laughing. If there was anything that he wouldn't have expected Thorin to do since they began living together, it would have been sneaking out of bed to gorge on all of the chocolate pudding. However, not one chortle fell from his tongue, and his gaze softened from surprised to concerned when the dwarf removed the spoon from his mouth and looked down at the floor like a pup being scolded.

“Oh, come here my sweet tart, and tell me what’s wrong,” the halfling insisted, and instantly he was at Thorin’s side, rubbing his shoulders and smiling sleepily. The dwarf, looking as exhausted as Bilbo had ever seen him, dropped his head on the hobbit's shoulder.

“I wish I could be of better use,” Thorin said quietly, and the dwarf’s eyes flickered over their surroundings. The warm wooden panels, the quaint and cozy furniture, a dormant pot hanging over the hearth. All very hobbit-like, and all not at all what a dwarf would consider as home for any period of time, and yet Thorin had been doing just that for half a year now.

Bilbo wanted to quickly deny what he’d said, snap at him, even, for letting such a preposterous thought slip into his head. However, he instead let his chin rest on top of Thorin’s long, black hair, and gripped tighter into his husband’s night shirt. After having lived a life filled with battle and heroics, leading and always being looked to for guidance, Bilbo realized how one like his prince might feel out of place and unneeded in such a simple place as the Shire. There were no requests for a royal dwarf’s assistance here, no subjects to watch over, no mountains to claim or dragons to slay.

There was, though, one thing that he could think of that made Thorin being here, living with him, a needed part of his life. Or, maybe, it was a million things tied up into the package of a brooding figure, handsome and dark and so fiery in anger, so gentle in his smiles. He was like watching the stars roll across the sky, chased by a racing sunrise until the morning light caught deep blue eyes; he was a reassuring hand at the small of his back that curled around the waist and pulled Bilbo closer; he was the deliverer of nightly kisses in a sea of woven quilts, a vessel to pour all of the hobbit’s worldly love into, a heart to keep and someone to give his heart to in turn.

Not one reason in the world, even if Smaug rose from the depths of his watery grave to part them, would make Bilbo want Thorin to go. Before their adventure he’d been a simple hobbit of simple means, and was just as much now, save for one thing; there was a fire in the blood of the dwarves, and Thorin’s own flame had touched his heart, kindled it in a way that it had never felt before. And he wasn’t planning on marking it all as useless.

Bilbo moved head and planted a kiss on Thorin’s salt and pepper hair, and he did laugh, since that was quite likely the most absurd thing he’d heard in all his years of living. “Without you, I’d be nothing,” he whispered, and Thorin lifted his head to regard him with dark blue eyes.

“Let’s go to bed?” Bilbo suggested, but in the end he was hushed by a pair of lips sealing his own. When they drew back, Thorin looked less tired and more alive, a soft upturn of his mouth crinkling his eyes in the places that the hobbit adored.

“Alright.”


End file.
